


For Thee All Soft Delight

by Nightmist



Series: Errata, Marginalia, Palimpsest [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: ... maybe not the cat, Anal Sex, Banter, Bisexuality, Collars, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), I mean it everyone, Ishgard Sandwich, Leashes, Light BDSM, M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Roughhousing, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Stupid self indulgence, Threesome - F/M/M, everyone's bi here, no PIV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/pseuds/Nightmist
Summary: Aymeric assumes it will be a quiet Starlight alone. Instead, he is surprised not just by his lovers, but they bring an offering of devotion as well.Threesome smut -- not really WoL focused, no PIV. I'm weird, I guess.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood, Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Errata, Marginalia, Palimpsest [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666165
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	For Thee All Soft Delight

**Author's Note:**

> In between working on various exchange or gift things that will be up at the end of the month, I had to treat myself a little and uh... I know, I should have written on the next chapter of Living Hands, but well, see. Leash porn. Um.
> 
> I'm sorry, hopefully someone else enjoys the smut, and if not, well, I did!

It is hardly the first Starlight Ser Aymeric has spent alone, or at least, alone in the wake of a traditional party. (Thankfully, this year, he was able to attend the one at Fortemps Manor, which made it far more pleasant than many years. Even if his arms were disappointingly empty the night through.) Still, there is, as ever, if nothing else, a warm fire, a glass of one of the better wines, and a cat to curls in his lap once he is home.

Aymeric unlocks his own front door; as has been his tradition, he insists the staff take the night for themselves and their own family. Despite that, a warm glow at the end of the hallway promises that, at a minimum, they have fussed and left a low fire for him in his study. (And unless he misses his guess, probably at least some sort of sweet treat and the tea tray.) Knocking snow from his boots, he dutifully places them on the tray to catch any drips, hangs his coat and muffler above on the hooks. Thus reduced to stocking-footed finery, he briefly considers the merits of slipping upstairs to change clothes, but in the end Aymeric chooses the simpler route of starting to shuck his outer, stiffer layers, carefully hanging fabric over his arm. Now in shirtsleeves and trousers, and assorted appropriate underlayers, he steps into his home office.

Only to try and scream when a rough hand claps over his mouth. Before thought even enters the equation, he bites down, hard, and only stops when a deep voice near as familiar as his own hisses out, “Fury’s fucking fingernails, Borel, you could at least kiss me first!” All the fight instantly leaves him, and he sags back, finding a form matched so near to his, a little taller and leaner against his broader shoulders. Estinien.

A rapid turn and lips meet his, pressing him into a kiss almost as bruising as his bite was. Estinien is still trying to shake the pain from his hand when it ends, his grin wolfish as dark blue eyes meet Aymeric’s icy blue. “You did not tell me I would at least have your company on Starlight, Estinien.” It is a gentle chastisement, but still, it would have been nice to be able to prepare a meal, or…

A second set of arms brackets his waist, a face barely nuzzling between his shoulder blades. Which is about as far as she can reach, even stretching, as Kohanya corrects, “We did not tell you, because pulling this off took enough finagling I was not truly sure of success. Better a pleasant surprise than a hopeful disappointment, my dear heart.”

Estinien’s grip loosens, letting Aymeric reach to haul the petite scholar around, laughing as he steals a lingering kiss from her lips as well, one hand still twisted into the fabric of Estinien’s shirt at his waist. He beams at the pair of them, at the sheer glee of acquiring unexpected company, much less this company, already more than enough to make this a proper Starlight. Then Kohanya leans to curl an arm around Estinien’s hips, a lift of her chin indicating two boxes sitting on his desk. “The visit is not _quite_ the entire gift, however. If you would indulge me, open them together.”

Curiosity burns like fire as Aymeric drops his hold on the dragoon and scholar, pacing to his desk. In truth, he had considered presence as more than enough, and anything further makes him wonder. A letter opener wielded with a familiar, deft hand makes for short work of wrappings, revealing two hinged wooden presentation boxes, the sort that he has previously seen conceal jewels. Somehow, he does not expect that to be the case.

With a glance back at the pair, Aymeric realizes that both Anya _and_ Estinien have a slight flush of color to their cheeks. Unable to bear any more wondering, he flips both boxes open at one go, then stares at the contents, temporarily bewildered. Both match superficially, bands of bright Borel blue, buttery soft leather and a coiled leash, along with dangling tags. One is tooled in geometric patterns, the other with twining floral vines. His first, irrational thought is: _These are both far too big for Snowflake. Anya has a better eye for size than that, as a seamstress._

Then a flare of light as one of the logs in the fireplace cracks, clearly illuminating the name carved into the diamond shaped tag hanging from the larger collar. _Estinien._ Palest morning blue eyes go wide, lift to meet a set of deep midnight. The dragoon holds it for a beat, almost defiantly proud, then flicks his eyes away. Only to almost immediately bring them back, as if drawn by a magnet. Rasping in his low rumble, he steps behind the miqo’te woman, wrapping arms around her from behind as he speaks. “Aye, I agreed, even if ‘twas her idea. Since we can’t be here all the time…”

When his voice fails, Anya’s does not, soft and resonant with warm adoration. “We thought you might find some enjoyment in a more physical reminder of how much we both appreciate _having_ a home with you to return to.” The deep wine pools of her eyes, unlike Estinien’s, stay on him, steady and certain. For her, acceptance of her emotions is far more natural now that she’s getting better at recognizing them.

A thick slurry of emotion seems to fill his throat, making swallowing hard, and Aymeric must close his eyes briefly to try and contain it when he nudges the second tag with a fingertip. _Anya_. The private form of her name allowed only to a tiny handful of nearest and dearest. Tongue touching to his lips to wet them, he asks, voice with the smallest quaver to his own ears, “You made these yourself.”

Well. Not really a question. He cannot imagine her trusting such work to anyone else. Sure enough, the miqo’te nods minutely, _that_ what brings a hint of self-conscious color to her cheeks. “Yes. Both for privacy and because it is personal, after all.” That is certainly one way to put it, and Aymeric cannot quite stop the smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips and he sets the boxes down, turning his palm up and crooking fingers in invitation.

“Come here, my beloveds.” So they do, Kohanya on eager and light feet, quick to close the distance and stand before him, hands clasped. Estinien, in contrast, slinks across the intervening space with the casual strut of a tomcat, as to make the point that they are not coming when called, but merely happened to be going in that direction, anyway. Despite that, he presses just as close, gaze casually disengaged even as the rest of his body turns towards Aymeric like a compass needle.

It is just as well, because while the Lord Speaker can keep the smile from his lips, he doubts he can hide the one in his eyes at Estinien’s low grumble of complaint when he takes the smaller collar in hand first. Teasing softly, he murmurs, brushing the scholar’s hair away from her neck as he speaks. “If you want to be first, Estinien, you have to remember to use your words.”

That earns him a scowl, along with hint of dusky color at the tips of the dragoon’s ears as he mutters smokily, “I am fairly sure the point here lies in indulging you. Or indulging your point, as it may be.” The accompanying leer is rather undermined by the fact that even his dark, hooded predator’s gaze does nothing to hide the tender affection for his companions as Estinien watches Aymeric’s fingers clasp the collar into place around the miqo’te’s neck.

A smirk finally gracing his own mouth, Aymeric takes the attached lead, pressing it into Estinien’s hand. “Then indulge me in keeping hold of your kitten while I adorn you to match her.” Sure enough, the dragoon is happy to drag Anya to him, burying his other hand in her hair to tilt her head up for a ravenous kiss. Laughing softly, the knight must tug her back away, chiding gently, “I cannot reach your neck if you are doing that.”

Estinien does not pout, precisely — his sense of pride would not allow it — but it is a far nearer thing than the man might want to admit. Defiantly, he reaches to lift his hair away from his neck, gaze locked on Aymeric challengingly. It might even be convincing, if not for the faint groan of lust audible low in his throat when the Lord’s hands latch the thick band of leather into place.

Still smirking, Aymeric hauls hard on the attached leash, pulling Estinien forward until his lips crash into his own, kissing him with the same demanding intensity. The gasp in response is enough to let his tongue delve to taste, claim, twine, and tease. The dragoon’s hand grips onto his shoulder for support and Aymeric feels delicate hands at the placket of his shirt, starting to undo the small buttons. Anya glances up at him through shading dark lashes, eyes gleaming. “If I may, my shield heart?”

He nods. She makes quick work of the job, until his shirt hangs loose and open, a cant of her head towards Estinien enough for him to nod again. The same is done there, and Aymeric reaches himself to ease the fabric down the dragoon’s arms and off entire. His own shirt follows, dropped onto a chair, and then the lord steps back, considering.

He lets go of the leash in his hand and gestures to the scholar. “Estinien? Why don’t you help Anya with her clothing.” That is all it takes for the silver-haired man to take one of those all too fast dragoon leaps forward and tackle their female partner. Knocked to the floor, she sputters protests and laughter, half-heartedly struggling as Estinien ruthlessly wrestles off her dress and then her smallclothes as well, earning a few playful bites and scratches for his trouble.

When the dragoon tries to stand, Aymeric can see that Anya has hooked both her hands into Estinien’s waistband, so he essentially can only stand by dragging his own pants off. It is an easy decision. A broad pair of hands quickly undoes the fastenings and steps free, shameless in his nudity and partially aroused shape. Already guessing his next intent from the way the man’s head snaps around, Aymeric is quick to start shedding the last of his own layers under his own power. Anya was a skilled seamstress, but Estinien could be hell on all their clothes.

Having spared himself a belated lecture, Aymeric snags the dangling lead linked to Estinien’s collar and reasserts his control. “Bring me your pet, love.” Both his lovers gain a charming pink cast on the cheeks for the comment. The dragoon’s grip is demanding but gentle as he pulls Kohanya forward. When she reaches him, his grip shifts to take her just at the collar with one hand, leaning in to press lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. When he straightens, contentment casts a warm glow to Estinien’s features as he hands the leash over.

He would almost feel bad for the fact he knows he is about to mercilessly tease him if it had not been for Estinien’s persistent failure to reliably keep him up to date in the field anymore. Aymeric smooths his fingers through the miqo’te’s hair, freeing it entirely of the confines of the usual partial updo, leaving it in dark waves around her shoulders. Like the felines her race resembles, she leans into the touch, luxuriates in it. Smirk softened to a sunbeam on morning mist, he traces down further, thumb etching a path along her jaw. “And you say I am responsive, my dear? You sing at our hands like a harp beneath a bard’s fingers.”

It makes her blush near to resembling the garnet of her eyes and he loves knowing his praise, his appraisal, means so very much to her. Swayed as low as the willows under the ice, he bends down to kiss her, first soft, light, then pressing firmer as he reels in his grip on her. When she steps so far forward she bumps gently into him, he transfers both grips to one hand, slinging it around her waist to hold her close. His other seeks the warm give and weight of a breast, cupping his hand and massaging slowly. Anya moans into his mouth prettily and he grips firmer, even as he hears an eager rustle of movement at their side.

“Wait.” He must break the kiss to give the order, and spears Estinien with a glance as well. Snarling, the dragoon settles back on his heels all the same, having learned that it is better to let Aymeric tease _now_ then it is to make him feel the urge to take it out in reducing him to desperate, whimpering need to be allowed to finish, much less doing so before their other lover. Aymeric turns his attention back to teasing their scholar more directly. He focuses his thumb and forefingers, rolling and tugging at her nipple, first gently, then harder. When she is crying out harshly against his mouth and Estinien can be heard desperately shifting his weight as he watches, he finally relents.

“A moment, my dear, while I consider.” The knight steps back a little, slinging the handle of her leash lightly around his wrist as he turns to eye their third. His eyes spark, dark even in their lightest hue, and he steps around behind the dragoon, lips already curling into a slow, pleased smile.

Aymeric presses himself against Estinien’s back, then noses his hair aside to bite down firmly on the side of his neck. Teeth scrape free, followed by a firm rain of kisses up until he can briefly flick a tongue against an earlobe. “I think, my wild lover, that I am going to take you, while I hear our lovely Anya choking herself on your cock. Does that seem acceptable?”

Estinien’s eager, embarrassed groan is answer just as much as his ragged “yes” is, paired with a warm-voiced, “Oh, yes, please.” He knows them both so well, after all, these loves of his, and he knows how more than anything, they all delight in one another.

Patting Estinien’s hip possessively, Aymeric commands, “Brace your hands on the back of the couch. Anya, on your knees in front of him.” His enjoyment in the feeling of being unquestioned and accepted utterly, at the knowledge that two of the most powerful people on Eorzea accept his orders and trust him to the core, ignites a simmering heat as much in his heart as in his loins. Both move as directed with an alacrity that betrays just as much excitement on their part. When the miqo’te audibly and visibly swallows at the sight of Estinien’s thick shaft, fully hard and ruddy with arousal, it is all Aymeric can do to remember to grab the lubricant from the table drawer. (And so long as he and his servants have mutually agreed to not acknowledge its presence, he intends to keep stashing it in every room in the house he has found he has needed it. Never mind this has been nearly _all_ of them.)

Kohanya’s eyes meet his for a moment, full of heat, and a spark and permission pass between them. Wrapping pale hands around the shaft in front of her, she eagerly laps at the head, clearing away the earlier drops of pre. When she sets lips more fully around reddened flesh, he settles one hand over Estinien’s hip, helping still him as his lubricated fingers find the other man’s opening. It takes little coaxing to slip a finger within, start to gently pump and circle it to open him further.

Cursing sharply, Estinien shifts one hand from the couch back to bury in the dark purple strands of the Warrior of Light, tugging Anya down deeper onto his cock. He fills her mouth roughly, and Aymeric follows suit with additional fingers, more demanding in his touch as they both grow increasingly aroused. A few firm moments of working that deep place within draws more cursing between needy gasps, then Aymeric withdraws and shifts. One hand to align himself, one still on that hip, and he melds against Estinien’s back once more, soaks in the heat and strength of him, the quiet, pleased sounds of Anya before the two elezen and still eagerly worshipping with mouth and throat and hands.

A careful push and he is inside, at first just a little, but oh, that familiar heat and grip always lure him deeper, rolling hips until as much of him as can be is buried within his dragoon lover. He buries his face in the tangle of salt and silver, breathing in leather and musk and faint traces of woods. Anchoring himself now by wrapping the arm with lube-smeared fingers around Estinien’s waist, Aymeric reaches with his other hand to match his partner’s in their third’s hair, silent encouraging her closer, to take the elezen fully into her throat.

It has been too long and his hunger is too great; as much as Aymeric wants to draw this out, make even more of a tease of it, he finds even his prodigious self-control is worn thin. The pacing of his thrusting starts to speed, deepen. Nosing at the neck and shoulders in front of him, he bites roughly, all the more so for being unable to reach Anya to mark her as well. Red crescents and subtle bruises bloom against tanned skins, mementos of his touch and claim that the dragoon will wear for days to come.

Estinien is breathing beneath him in desperate, ragged pants, rasping low moans on the inhale, and giving in to impulse, the lord tightens his grip down more, ‘til the collar pulls taut against the dragoon’s neck, forcing him to breathe more shallowly. Estinien shudders, hard, hips jerking forward to pull a choked but excited sound from the woman servicing him. It is a familiar game, as much about the threat as the actual pressure, another subtle reminder of the control he claims over his adoring companions. The dragoon trembles shakily, knuckles white in his bracing grip at the back of the couch, the other hand only managing a little kinder as he rolls and grinds his hips, dragging his cock roughly over the scholar’s tongue.

Shifting hips just enough that he can angle against that spot inside his lover once more, Aymeric groans smugly as Estinien starts to almost _keen_. May he never tire of hearing that intensity of desire from his lover! A few more measured, hard thrusts and the dragoon is unwinding, trying to form a name and managing no more than the initial “A—“ before driven to incoherency. Hips driven roughly forward and no doubt tear air from the scholar as Estinien buries into her throat as he climaxes, shaking again with each spurt of seed. The tight sheath of his body pulses around Aymeric’s cock and unwilling to hold himself to patience, he buries himself and spends.

More heat and slick around him, the desperate sound of panting as Kohanya pulls herself back off Estinien’s prick, still coughing and struggling to regain her breath. Despite her tousled state, she seems radiantly pleased with herself as well, hips rolling and thighs rubbing together in response to her arousal.

Sliding himself regretfully free, Aymeric starts to ask the other man, “Would you prefer—“ He cuts himself off with a wry laugh as Estinien promptly pushes the woman onto her back with one hand, the other diving between her legs to circle fingertips around her bud. The dragoon may happily give in to him, enough so to be unashamed that he is delaying dealing with the mess painting his thighs, but he still sees himself as demanding equal devotion from their warrior.

Focused and as unerringly direct as he can be in battle, Estinien works callused fingertips on slippery pink flesh. His voice a low, unabashed growl, he pinches down on her clitoris, rubbing it firmly. “Scream for us, kitten, show off how your pretty cunt throbs, just thinking of us…” Amused to hear his tactic in his lover’s hands, even as Anya jerks and cries out in orgasm, Aymeric finds the tray he had expected far earlier.

Hopefully it was stocked by one of the other two, since rather than tea and cookies alone, it also holds a pitcher and glasses for water, as well as a few soft, clean folded cloths for cleanup. Aymeric makes good use of the latter, bringing two more over to pass to his lovers, Estinien still looming over Anya and smiling like a coeurl before an ocean of cream. No shame either in pressing a brisk but loving kiss to Aymeric’s lips as he takes the cloth, hastily affecting a first tidying before he staggers to his feet. “I am going to wash proper and change. Since I was in the middle, I got messiest, and I deserve first wash.”

As if he does not swagger with self-assured pleasure about that fact as he walks out, lead swaying with his movement! Far, far warmer, and more contentedly wearied than he had dreamed of being at the start of the night, Aymeric settles on the couch, pulling Anya up and into his lap to cuddle as they await their turn. She wraps still lax arms around him tenderly, while he buries his face into her hair. Aymeric breathes in cinnamon and honeysuckle and clean skin, sighing contentedly before he sets broad hands at her waist and lifts her just slightly, so it is easier to set his mouth at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. He sucks deeply, teeth digging in, tongue lavishing, unwilling to let the night go without leaving some mark of his presence and possession on her skin as well.

Her fingers curl hard into his hair and Anya pulls him back with a laugh, pressing kisses to her collarbone when he lowers her again. “Sometimes I forget that even if he is the angrily possessive one, you never can resist finding ways to leave reminders of yourself.” Aymeric shrugs, far less sheepish about this then he possibly should be. He cradles her and she settles against him, enjoying the moment of calm.

When Estinien returns, changed into sleep pants and collar in hand. He hands it over to Aymeric with a shy smile and scoops the miqo’te up into his arms. “You get hers off and then you can go up. I’ll make sure the fire is settled and the bed turned down.” He holds still until the knight unclasps the leather band, then kisses the top of Anya’s head and sets her back onto her feet. “Off you go, kitten.”

Taking the tray in hand instead, she presses it into Estinien’s grip, tails waying idly. “Take that up with you.” Aymeric watches them a moment, then slips off to his own cleansing, knowing he will be able to return after to his own bed, warmed with two bodies and two hearts that will always welcome his.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, want to talk and hang out with other people who love FFXIV fic, whether it be writing it or reading it? Please stop by [The Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) and join us!
> 
> Want to bug me specifically? My various social media (an be found via [my carrd](https://nightmist.carrd.co).
> 
> If you are so kind to have read this and are up to it, authors thrive most entirely upon comments, a crumb is ever appreciated.


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